


Angel's Song is Luring... (So Careful, for a Human's Love is Deadly)

by fakescorpion (SiZodiac)



Series: A Siren of the Angelic Breed [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cognitive Dissonance, Dubious Consent, Fallen Angel, Folklore and mythology, Hallucinations, Moral Ambiguity, Necrophilia, Other, Phantasmophilia, Supernatural AU: Croatoan/End'verse, Vengeful Spirits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 02:35:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiZodiac/pseuds/fakescorpion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel's thoughts on angel/vessel relationships during questionably consensual sex. Extremely eerie atmosphere and non-graphic depictions of violence, psychological issues, moral dissonance, implied drug use, with an unhealthy dose of folklore.<br/>An alternate 'The End'universe companion piece to "When Your Angel Sings..." Another porn with plot, but more depressing and at least twice as disturbing. [Dominant!Jimmy/Submissive!Cas]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel's Song is Luring... (So Careful, for a Human's Love is Deadly)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Daylight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daylight/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Ghosts that Haunt Us](https://archiveofourown.org/works/122716) by [Daylight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daylight/pseuds/Daylight). 



> Necrophilia: classified as a paraphilia, meaning to have sexual attraction to or have sexual acts with corpses.  
> Phantasmophilia: a made up word, for describing the state of being sexually attracted to or having sexual acts with ghosts.

 

 

 

_Now the Sirens have a still more fatal weapon than their song, namely their silence._  
_Someone might possibly have escaped from their singing; but from their silence certainly never._

\--The Silence of the Sirens, Franz Kafka

 

The beads felt heavy in his hands as if they were made from lead, but at once so very rough like sandpapers. Dozens of stringed beads draped over the doorway of his cabin blocking his entrance, in a state when he was already having great difficulty standing upright, it seemed especially taxing to push the beads aside.

One step. Two.

An emptied flask of some unidentified hard liquor fell from his loose fingers onto the carpeted floor with a soft pang! and in a daze, he accidently kicked over bottled pills that seemed to always lie around the most random of places. The contents were sent spilling out.

Three steps. Four.

His vision wasn’t nearly focused enough, bright colors kept flashing at his peripheral but everything else was too dark for him to make out clearly. The room was too cold and too oppressing, and his lungs were too thick and too warm. He was having trouble breathing and he wanted to fly to July or maybe August. But it shouldn’t feel so cold and oppressing, because it already _was_ July or maybe August, and his wings were clipped for so many years now.

Five ste--

Cas found himself on the floor, disoriented. The single bed and the warmth of his blanket were still a few steps to his left, and so very far away.

How stoned are you? Nobody asked. Nobody sounded like Chuck, sometimes.

Shutting his eyes, Cas turned, rolled onto his back and threw back his head laughing hysterically. Nine, probably, on the scale of one to ten, if he was already hallucinating voices in his head. And veering dangerously close to nine-point-five. (He was still conscious, so it wasn’t ten out of ten, yet.)

The carpet felt uncomfortably stringy under his fingertips. There was a dried whiskey stain two inches away from where he had collapsed, from two days or two weeks ago. This cabin was a cage. This camp was a cage. This world was a cage. Cas thought. Or maybe, it was this skin and bone and blood, that were holding him captive.

How stoned are you? Nobody asked. Now nobody sounded like Daniel, or Madelyn, or Christina, or Kylie, or one of the two dozen other women in the camp that come in and out of his cabin as they pleased. So nobody had a chance of actually be somebody this time, and that he was just too high to tell reality from hallucinations. “Go away,” Cas groaned covering his face with a hand, he didn’t want to be impolite but he was not all here enough to deal with anyone right now. Bright lights were still dancing on bad acid behind his lids.

Then he felt cold lips pressing against his shoulder, just below the clavicle where his plaid shirt wasn’t covering skin, mouth closed and tentative. But Cas didn’t look, eyes stubbornly refused to open, the creaky wooden boards under the rug screeched as he shifted his weight. The lips moved to his exposed throat when he turned his head to the side, freezing, like the metallic of a blade.

Cas wondered how fast he would bleed out if a knife sliced through his carotid.

“Can you sing?” Raspy, almost grating, like barren wind blowing through a hollow on broken barks of sullen trees. There was an empty echo to that voice. _Can you sing? Can you sing? Can you sing?_

“Sorry. I can’t.”

His voice was taken from him many years ago, when his wings were clipped.

“Sing for me. Castiel. Please.”

_Sing for me? Sing for me? Sing for me?_

The lips moved ever gently to the side of his mouth. Cas turned away.

“I can’t, Jimmy. And you are probably not real.”

Between the time he fell from Heaven and the time his wings got clipped, something had seriously gone wrong. And when Jimmy leaned over the fallen angel one last time to kiss him fully on the mouth, Cas didn’t shy away again and instead meet the frosty lips with his much more warmer tongue, open-mouthed and heated and biting fervidly with his teeth.

Between Castiel and Cas, and his relationship with Jimmy.

Something had seriously gone wrong.

 

Cas couldn’t recall very clearly the beginning of their fucked up relationship. But like everything else, it started subtle… fluttering curtains and malfunctioning electronics and toppled bottles… then Cas found Jimmy cradling a dead body, very suddenly, one night.

He was so pallid, eyes a lifeless dull blue, and was dressed in a very different attire from when Cas last remembered him by. The suit and slacks were no longer oversized, as was the shirt, now all form-fitting hugging his lean figure and bleached into a washed-out gray. The tie was gone and his top two buttons were open, showing off his pale bare chest. The trench coat was still present though, only it was pure white and a bit tattered around the edges, now reaching passed his ankles and long enough to drag onto the ground like a flowing dress… and everything was covered in blood.

 

 

That was what Cas saw: Jimmy sitting on his bed in his room in a random motel in the middle of nowhere, cradling the dead body of a young female. The corpse of Madelyn, or Christina, or Kylie, or one of the two dozen other women Cas had ever lain with up to that point in time that he no longer bothered to remember the names of. Jimmy had apparently disassembled her into ten or twenty parts, before dispersing her across the room.

The chalky shadow of his vessel looked up when the door shut behind him with a dull thud, and twinkles of life entered those stagnant eyes as a soft smile graced his ghastly face. Cas didn’t even have the chance to be alarmed before he was pushed against the closed door, with lips cold as ice pressing persistently onto his.

“I can touch you, now. Castiel.”

_Castiel._

_Castiel._

_Castiel._

The sound echoed, like the curl of empty wind.

The lights in the room then started to flicker at random intervals, the electromagnetic fields disrupted from spirit activity.

 

Cas woke when he felt something wet and taste of copper touched the side of his face. He groaned, skin feeling too tight and bone was still aching, as he stretched out a hand to rub at whatever it was on his face. His fingers came off a deep scarlet.

The fallen angel sat up, too fast that it caused him a case of vertigo, with his hands and face covered in freshly spilled blood and heart thumping heavy in his chest. There was a large pool of red gathered on the carpet and splashes on the walls and windows, so Cas did a mental check upon his own person, knowing that he wasn’t hurt his chest clinched tighter, thinking in despair that Jimmy had finally killed in the camp.

Cas’ head was still being pounded by an unrelenting jackhammer, and he didn’t know whether it was because of the drug or the booze. In this miserable state, he had to think up something half-way decent to explain to the fearless leader why Daniel, or Madelyn, or Christina, or Kylie, or one of the two dozen other women he didn’t really care about ended up as finger paint in his cabin.

How stoned are you? Nobody asked.

He kept hearing this question and Cas was frustrated. His head hurt and his vision was spinning around and around. “Jimmy…” he heaved, because he didn’t know how to solve this problem between them. “Jimmy… Jimmy, Jimmy.”

“Yes, Cas?”

And Cas woke when he felt a freezing finger thread gently through his hair. He sat up, and found his hands and face dusty but clean of blood. There was nothing splashed up the walls and no pools of red gathered around his feet, the last minutes a nightmare or a hallucination conjured up by his intoxicated mind.

Jimmy followed his movement and sat up as well, his finger now caressing his angel’s jawline. Always exceedingly patient.

Cas looked at him and wondered idly, how stoned am I? (He was still conscious, so it wasn’t ten out of ten, yet.) The front of Jimmy’s shirt was wide open, and with him so close inclining, it was easily a very pleasing view. Probably wasn’t even a conscious intention on the other man’s part though, knowing what he was now, but Jimmy had become very apt in the art of seduction.

“Can you sing?” Jimmy asked softly. _Can you sing? Can you sing? Can you sing?_

“I’m sorry, Jimmy. I can’t.”

Jimmy leaned on closer, attention shifted down to the fallen angel’s lips once before looking back up to gaze into Cas’ unfocused blue eyes, silently asking for invitation. So Cas kissed him in an almost chastely fashion, before canting his head to the side so Jimmy could more easily bury himself into the crook of his neck and drag teeth along his Adam’s apple.

“Sing for me, please,” Jimmy pleaded, cold breath ghosted against Cas’ throat inciting a shiver to run down their once shared body, as he placed a hand on the former angel’s worn jeans and start rubbing circles on his knee before moving slowly upwards along the inside of his thigh. “Castiel?” another soft probing kiss.

“My voice is gone, Jimmy. I’ve told you.”

Jimmy hummed deeply, fingers tracing the corner of his waistband before moving to undo his belt buckle. “Dance with me?” he asked quietly, tone level in genuine inquiry, but Cas knew he was really implying _Sleep with me._ and it was meant as a warning. Always exceedingly patient… before the innate violent trait show.

So Cas sighed, slowly made to stand on his wobbly legs. He wasn’t trying to egg Jimmy on, knowing how tired and besotted he currently was, but it was never a good idea to infuriate a vengeful soul. “I’m not in the best state for any dances right now,” he said, holding onto Jimmy’s slender wrist and guide him intently to the small bed in the corner, stumbling only a few times in the process.

It was July or maybe August, should be warm enough but Jimmy’s presence here was making the temperature within the cabin to drop. The sun could be seen slowly setting outside the window but Cas wasn’t lucid enough to light a candle, he needed sleep but he was too cold, even after wrapping a thick blanket around his body, he was still too cold.

Jimmy was observing him quietly from the corner of the single bed, waiting for Cas to make himself comfortable before the fallen angel went on his knees and rested a slightly tilted head against his thigh between his open legs. “I am too tired to perform the full course,” Cas said, applying pressure to the spirit’s crotch with a languid hand as he undid the front of the albescent dress pants. “Is this okay?”

As a reply, Jimmy wrapped his arms around his angel’s shoulders, leaning in close to bring their faces together. His frock-like white coat lightly breezed in the nonexistent wind, and they kissed and kissed and kissed.

 

Cas reacted rather violently the first time he taste the combination of death and decay and lingering affection on his lips, and he made to shove Jimmy away. “What happen to you?” he demanded, the scent of blood thick in the suffocating air, but Cas couldn’t push the spirit any more than a sad inch now that he wasn’t much more than an average human. All but pretty powerless.

“I died,” the image of his vessel replied ( _DiedDiedDied,_ the horrendous echo said), “and I stayed.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas said, a little taken aback when he realized he actually meant it, humanity it appeared had touched him deeply. And he thought _I fell, and I stayed._ and his chest felt tight.

Shaking his head to repel that depressing reminder, Cas looked around, noting again the many drawn and quartered body parts tossed about the room, “Why did you kill her?”

“I got angry,” Jimmy paid no attention to the mess at his feet, face uncharacteristically blank. “I have wanted to touch you for many years now. She could, I couldn’t. I got angry.” Soon as he thought he had appropriately explained himself, Jimmy went back to kissing, apparently already lost any interest in further conversation.

Cas shoved him away the second time, using more strength, it didn’t help. “That’s no reason to kill someone,” the fallen angel said. For his trouble Cas instantly found a heavy pressure slamming him back against the door, with his breath coming short and visibly frosty being in the close quarter of a ghost. A possible cracked rib served as a subtle reminder that reasoning with anything dead and vengeful was both stupid and a waste of effort.

“You said you love me,” Jimmy didn’t remove his hand from Castiel’s chest, and he was _so strong_ when comparing to the almost-human angel.

“I did,” Cas answered with a small bit of difficulty, he was having trouble breathing with Jimmy slowly crushing his lungs.

“Do you still love me?”

The pressure lessened, and Cas let out a breath before hesitantly raising a hand to cup the almost identical face merely inches from his own, a finger delicately caressing his dead vessel’s pasty cheek. He still remembered the times he-- as _Castiel_ \-- used to sing to Jimmy, it seemed like so long ago, when he still had his voice and halo and wings. _Maybe a little,_ he thought to himself, Jimmy was still as beautiful as ever in his eyes. But instead Cas asked, “Does it matter?” because he knew it does not.

So Jimmy pressed him against the door and kissed his angel again, the third time, Cas let him do as pleased. He still tasted of death and decay and lingering affection, but the intense lust traded between them easily overwhelmed the rotting fragrance of the undead. “Can you sing?” the spirit asked, softly, in between their gasps of icy air. _Can you sing? Can you sing? Can you sing?_

“I can’t, Jimmy. I’m sorry.”

A silent flicker around the edges was all the indication that the ghost had heard, then Cas let out a hoarse whimper when the zip of his jeans was undone and along with his briefs was pushed down. “Dance with me, then?” Jimmy asked, reaching downwards to stroke the warm flesh between the legs of their once shared body, with cold fingers tracing the veins on the sides, he could felt the beginning of an erection throbbing in his hand.

Cas felt his knees go weak, and would surely have fallen if Jimmy wasn’t steadying his waist using his other hand and supporting most of his weight. “Y-es,” he whispered through chattering teeth, and the irony of that consent was not lost on him. “Yes, Jimmy. I’ll dance with you.”

Jimmy smiled, and he looked beautiful.

Cas hung back his head against the wooden door board and moaned obscenely when a ghostly touch flicked across his flushed tip, spreading the moisture that was beginning to gather there, and exposing the curve of his neck for Jimmy to ravish. Cas couldn’t help it. He was basically human now, and the vessel had become so intimate to his being that he was practically a slave to the many sensations of the human body.

_I can touch you, now. Castiel._

And so suddenly, Jimmy’s statement from before took on a few extra meanings that differentiated from the literal.

“Jimmy…” Cas panted, latching onto Jimmy and grinded their hips together for more sweet friction when the hand between his thighs was removed for the task of slowly undoing the buttons on his shirt. He struggled with getting out of his shoes and socks and jeans without the help of hands. “Jimmy…” Cas moaned as the spirit’s cold lips nip at his uncovered chest, and he stepped out of the last clothing that shielded the lower parts of his person.

It probably spoke something of his character as a human when he didn’t even care in the least that his feet was now red from dismantled intestines or scattered brain. Or maybe the basic lessons humanity tried to teach him hadn’t stick yet.

When Jimmy start running hands down his bare thighs, Cas didn’t need any further prompt to hook a leg around the spirit’s waist. He did have enough shame still though to feel like a wanton whore when he was unexpectedly lifted off the ground, with his bare legs wrapped around another man and fingers digging adamantly into the front of the smudged shirt. Cas was thankful that weight and strength wasn’t an issue.

“Jimmy…?” Cas said weakly, he was feeling too hot on the inside when contrasting it with him hugging a freezing corpse. The dim lights within the room were still going on and off at random, but he could make out Jimmy lubricating his own fingers with his tongue even with his head half turned. “Jimmy… you’re not taking me to a bed or something?”

Jimmy just pressed their lips together again as a substitute for a vocal answer, and Cas hitched his voice when he felt a slick finger teasing the tight muscles around his rim before sinking in. “Here is fine,” the spirit told him, planting more kisses onto his angel’s neck and chest, and the fallen renegade celestial could practically feel himself blushing at the thought of being fucked against a blood splattered door.

“We’re going to attract so much attention.”

For that, Jimmy only hummed. It was a concern for humans, something he was sadly no longer a part of. As a spirit he could only care about the here and now.

Then Cas was moaning, knuckles shone white from clinging fast onto the lapels of Jimmy’s pallid shirt, bucking his hips helplessly when the second slippery finger buried deep inside him and started to scissor and stretch, brushing against his sensitive prostate again and again. His heated arousal bobbed and twitched in the cold air as he arched his back, and his engorged tip was starting to get really wet, with beads of pre-cum forming and running down the sides.

He wasn’t going to last long now, and Cas kissed the shadow of his human vessel on the temple virtuously before feeling a hand down between them to touch himself, with Jimmy watching almost reverently as he squeezed and stroked along the quivering shaft of their once shared body. The coldness that continued to disseminate from the living cadaver was both exotic and somehow sexually stimulating. Cas squirmed and whined, sharing his ever increasing feverish body heat as he tugged at himself, palming his balls and running fingers down his slithery length, flushed and hard and responsive, a thumb rubbed teasing circles around his hypersensitive slit.

“Can you sing?” Jimmy asked, for the second time that day, as he curled the fingers buried deep inside his beautiful clipped-winged angel. Cas could only shook his head sadly as he trembled with lust, reaching climax in the spirit’s arctic embrace.

 

Since when was it okay for fallen angels and vengeful spirits to have coition? Cas still occasionally wondered, though by now it had become pretty much a nonissue. Neither of them could remember how many times they had repeated this dance though, with Castiel being inebriated out of his mind half the time and Jimmy suffering from ghost amnesia by default.

How stoned are you? Nobody kept asking, like a record stuck on replay. Cas ignored it as always, nipping at the base of Jimmy’s raised member then lapped at his testicles. (He was still conscious, so it wasn’t ten out of ten, yet.)

Having oral sex with Jimmy was very different from doing it with the two dozen or so women that flung themselves at him, or the handful of men he had ever experienced with. Jimmy was frigid for one, even with his penis hard and erected, and for the most part dry. There was no stink of sweat or any other bodily odor either, just the putrid scent of love and decomposing flesh.

Nothing about Jimmy was remotely human now.

His face was clean shaven and very pretty, almost otherworldly with his expression so serene, easily endearing and all soft smiles. But Cas dared not look too closely at him or the illusion would crumble, exposing the carrion features of gray skin and hollow eyes and sunken cheeks.

However, Cas tried not to break eye contact as he licked the full tumid length of his mirrored-self, hands running through the small mess of wiry pubic hairs around the base as he played with his balls. Because Jimmy liked to watch, calm and algid, with his palms resting on the sides of Cas’ shoulders. The hands that were so courteous and patient, at the most unassuming provocation, would turn obsessive, clawed, vicious.

They gazed deeply into each other’s eyes as Cas sucked and licked and kissed, until he started drawing ebony secretions from the tip. Cas moaned softly from around the slippery shaft when Jimmy placed a foot on his groin, rubbing against his already hard cock through the layers of quilt and jeans.

Jimmy revered the view from his position, a curious sight surely, but rapturously so. A clipped-winged angel on his knees before him, unabashedly fondling his wet length with skillful hands and tongue, thoroughly depraved, as a being once so unadulterated and perfect was now brought so low. Still beautiful though, as the angel always would be, an earthbound celestial beauty.

Running a soothing touch along his counterpart’s scalp, Jimmy added more pressure to Castiel’s nether regions with the tip of his white dress shoes, drawing out a deliciously obscene moan. Cas grinded his hips helplessly against the spirit’s leg, long fallen prey to his sensual desires.

“So debauched,” Jimmy said, forcing him closer and choking him as he buried deeper into the fallen angel’s throat. Cas whimpered, feeling sticky and damp where his erection was straining against his jeans, with the slick of lust already seeping through the fabric. His movement grew progressively jerky and erratic even as he tried to hold steady against Jimmy’s calf, breathless and thirst for more, a hand lowered to grab and rub himself through the many layers of cloth, and too soon he was brought crashing over the edge.

Jimmy smiled gingerly letting his angel go, but stayed corporeal so Cas could rest for a moment against his thigh. And Cas leaned back tiredly, opening his mouth obediently to allow Jimmy another kiss and basically sharing the black substance dripping from his lips.

“I need to sleep,” Cas said, once recovered enough from his euphoric high. He got up, discarding the blanket at his feet, then sluggishly shrugged off his uncomfortable clothes. “And you need to leave.”

“You could dig a grave for us,” Jimmy whispered, watching as Cas slowly undressed, “salt our body,” he continued, “and we could burn together.”

Cas could only throw him a wistful look as he wrapped himself naked in warm quilt, and crawled onto the bed. Jimmy kissed his temple fondly one more time before blinking out of existence.

“I love you, Castiel.”

_… I love you. I love you. I love you…_

And Cas felt a little something within himself stirred… and died.

 

That was what Jimmy said, after the first time.

“I love you, Castiel.”

_… I love you. I love you. I love you…_

And as Cas slowly sank down onto the floor that still had human remains carelessly thrown about, he felt absolutely awful and more than a little disgusted. “Are you actually  _glad_ that this… _thing_ … happened between us?” he wasn’t even sure why he asked that.

Cas remembered seeing Jimmy’s faraway smile.

“I’m… content.”

A shimmer

Then the spirit was gone.

And Cas was completely alone again.

Alone.

Everybody he had ever loved. Left.

His Father had abandoned him long ago. His brothers and sisters had left him in this hellhole. And Dean was leaving him, too, obsessed with the lost of his own family, though Cas would never fault him on that what with the heavy weight of the future on a single man.

Jimmy though… _he_ _stayed_.

And everything turned more messed up than it already was because of it. Even if Cas was, maybe, a little grateful. Maybe. Maybe…

Jimmy Novak had once been a loving family man, an amiable father and husband, a devout and compassionate Christian.  
Jimmy was now a monster, still innocent from a certain point of view, but horrifyingly deadly and positively inhuman.

Castiel knew who was to blame.

So he bowed his head and hugged himself, almost pitifully, half nude and covered in gore, with drips of pearly semen sliding down the front of his abdomen and clammy films of atramentous ectoplasm between his legs.

Angels did not cry tears. And because Castiel was not yet completely human, was still angel enough, tracks of blood rolled down the corner of his eyes.

 

Then there was Daniel.

Before Chitaqua, Cas had tagged after Dean, mournfully watching the man he cared and maybe loved grew increasingly desperate, as they wandered from refugee camp to refugee camp. It was during one of those downtimes when they separated, however, with Dean wanting to move on and Cas wishing to settle, that he met Daniel.

Maybe it was the name, the man was named after an angel, and the familiarity of it hurt. Or maybe it was his nevertheless cheerful personality in these dark times, with the deadly Croatoan virus spreading, fast and furious, like untamed wildfire. Or… maybe it was because he had hazel green eyes that kind of looked like Dean Winchester.

Daniel was far from being his first though, wasn’t even his first _man_ in the technical sense, but he was definitely the first individual that Cas kissed with a pulse. The fallen renegade angel later reflected that it was probably what set Jimmy off. Because Castiel should never ever forget, even for a moment, that he was haunted by an unrest soul who was both homicidal and completely infatuated with him. Later Cas was forcibly reminded of that as he shivered on a dingy double bed, hapless and helpless, as he watched the windows bolted shut and all exits within the small hut sealed through spiritual telekinesis.

Daniel died slow and painful from a hemorrhaging stomach wound, while pounding at the door weakly and in much agony, unable to get out. Unable to call for help even. And was forced to be a witness as Jimmy raped his angel against the headboard, the blanched overcoat the spirit now always appeared in draped around them like a mocking semblance of a white wedding gown. It was dotted with his blood.

Cas fled the camp before the sunrise next day. But he knew there was nowhere for him to run, he could never _ever_ escape.

Neither of them could.

And the only reason Cas managed to cover five hundred miles through the Croatoan infested lands and raid deserted towns to find his way back to Dean, with no weapon and not enough food and mostly on foot, was because vengeful ghosts had an instinct to protect their remains. That was what he was, the skin and bone and blood that were holding him captive, the remains of a spirit whom could not be put to rest, and Jimmy would slaughter anything that threatened his life.

It was a month of loneliness.

And that alone month was probably why Cas later resigned to their plight.

Especially since him might or might not have been fucked against the hood of a broken down car out in the open while high on amphetamine or methamphetamine, twice or twenty times, while Croats roamed two streets away. And already too often, he would wake with chilly lips and tongue around his morning arousal or black tar between his legs.

Jimmy still asked him to sing every day.

Always smiling and always exceedingly patient, while leaving a trail of blood behind.

 

Jimmy had killed at least two dozen up to that point, two dozen real people, two dozen uninfected innocent lives. That was why this number was permanently affixed in Castiel’s mind, and among the numbers were Daniel and Madelyn and Christina and Kylie, remembered back when he still cared. But Jimmy was just as he was, unchanging from the moment of his death, bloodthirsty and vengeful and in love. And Cas didn’t know what to do.

Can you sing?

Always the same question.

No, I can’t. Jimmy, I’m sorry. I really am.

How stoned are you?

Always the same question.

(I’m still conscious, so it isn’t ten out of ten, yet.)

Cas still thought of Daniel and Madelyn and Christina and Kylie sometimes, and the other two dozen dead girls. They were mistakes made when he hadn’t yet figured out how the relationship between him and Jimmy work, of where exactly existed the line between “faithful” and “unfaithful” that shouldn’t be crossed.

They were the warnings to never let anyone in too close. That was why Cas got rid of the door and bolts once he had his own personal cabin… to reduce the chances of Jimmy trapping anymore oblivious victims through supernatural means, so that there wouldn’t be another Daniel, boxed in by telekinesis while suffering a slow humiliating death.

Other times, Cas feared for Dean.

_Can you sing?_

No, I can’t.

_Can you sing?_

I can’t, Jimmy. I’m really sorry.

_Can you sing?_

I-I…

“Can you sing?” Jimmy asked softly, trailing a cautious finger down the bare back of the sleeping form and admired how his beautiful earthbound angel unknowingly arch his spine just the tiniest bit into the touch, surprisingly graceful, as he was gradually coaxed to wakefulness. These were the small rare moments that Cas would still hint at his once divine, the motion of subconsciously spreading his heavenly wings.

So beautiful. A caged ethereal raptor with his wings clipped.

Jimmy pulled the blankets lower, exposing more skin and the curvy back of their once shared body, as he planted kisses across the shoulder blades. Cas’ long eyelashes fluttered, blinking drowsily before canting his head backwards to look at Jimmy from an angle. But Jimmy held him still with a hand on his waist, moving to kiss his nape.

The room was dimly lit in the dull morning twilight, and Cas wondered for a second if he was dreaming. He could never tell for sure these days.

“Sing for me, Castiel,” Jimmy requested, trailing his kisses lower and lower, nipping at his angel’s well-defined hipbone and freeing those long legs from the confinement of manmade silk. “Please?”

“I ca-aan’t,” Cas moaned, his body already reacting to the familiar sensation of having a living corpse caress his skin. The searing heat of desire flared as he felt himself growing hard between his legs, bucking his hips in exhilaration, with arms hugging the pillows and fingers twisting into sheets.

Jimmy ran hands down the side of his thighs and along the convulsing muscles of his midriff, movement deliberately unhurried, making this dance a tortured ecstasy.

Cas keened breathlessly, burying his face into the bedspread and tried in vain to stifle his moans. Jimmy’s touch was freezing, like he was dragging an ice cube up and down his burning body. His member throbbed and twitched as he jerked his hips, rubbing his aching erection against the soft fabric of the blanket for more friction. “Jimmy…” he cried, so softly it was barely above a whisper.

_Let us burn together._

Jimmy was his sword, tailor-made by life and destiny-- had been, still was-- only that Castiel might have accidentally cut himself on the sharp double edge.

Only once and he was lost, a small cut, from a fleeting thought of sympathy. Then the wound festered, aggravated, and corrupted. He knew emotions were deadly poisons to angels, more so for the fallen, and now there was obsession and love and lust and so much passion where there should be none. Cas gasped and groaned, but couldn’t bring himself to regret it, as Jimmy held onto his pelvis and lapped at his entrance, spreading slippery ectoplasm with his tongue.

“J-Jimmy,” Cas moaned when Jimmy spread his legs farther apart to finally enter the tight space with a thrust. His body immediately responded in kind, arching up, as the hard cock brushed against his most sensitive spot. “More, m-more…” he choked back a whimper, the chilly feeling of rigor mortis sliding against flushed skin was making him raw and needy and all kinds of wrong.

Black ooze was dripping from between his ass cheeks and sliding down the inside of his legs, with Jimmy picking up his pace and leaking glossy supernatural slime from his tip. Cas gasped, jerking his hips as he was being fucked relentlessly into his tiny bed, the sinful pleasures of the flesh were intensified as his own erection was dragged across the mattress with every deep thrust. The delicious friction from the sheets was making him hot and wet and aching for release.

Then Jimmy kissed his fallen angel deeply on his bare back, where a pair of majestic wings used to be. The kiss was anguish and sacrifice and maybe a little regret, and Cas trembled, coming in spasms of orgasmic frenzy.

 

They were trapped together, even beyond the grave.

“Can you sing?” Jimmy asked, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s slender waist in an affectionate embrace, interlacing their right hands together and brought it to his lips, tenderly kissing his angel's fingertips. The fallen celestial was wholly nude save for the sullied sheets, and quite shameless as he tilted his head back for another raunchy open-mouthed kiss.

Cas sighed, licking up the trail of saliva and inky plasma that was dripping down the spirit’s pale chin. Jimmy refused to let him go, sure, but maybe he was holding on to his sword just as tightly.

“I love you, Jimmy,” Cas whispered, hoping the dead air between them would not swallow up his words, because he could never say it often enough.

“I know,” Jimmy answered gently, holding him even closer and let his white flowing overcoat drape over them both. A nebulous fragile shield against the dying world.

“I love you,” Cas repeated, and surprised himself a little when he realized he actually meant it more than he originally thought. It was morbid and aberrant, but he was kissing the lips of a dead and rotting abomination again, and again and again and again. He didn’t care, drinking up the taste of decay and decadence like nectar.

And all things between them were a surmise of everything that went wrong with this world.

“I love you, Jimmy. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

“As do I, Castiel. Always.”

_… I. Love. You _…__

__…_ I. Love. You _…__

__…_ I. Love. You…_

 

Angel’s song is luring… so careful, for a human’s love is deadly… and _undying_.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
>  **Jimmy is a White Lady**  
>  1) Called the “Woman in White” in the TV show, it is a specific type of vengeful spirit in that they suffered from love prior their death, such as being romantically betrayed or losing their love to tragic, victims of rape, and sometimes with missing children.  
> 2) Always woman and almost always wore white in folklore, because a large majority of them died while wearing their white wedding gown. But due to Supernatural often like throwing curveballs on gender issues-- among other things-- so why not? In this fanfic series, Jimmy had pretty much every box checked.  
> 3) They are depicted as innate seductresses in some ghost stories and are very often portrayed as beautiful on the outside, but their real visages are actually that of undead corpses and not at all pretty.  
> 4) In French mythology, they are known as Dames Blanches, spirits who ask men for dances and “make many courtesies, and then vanish” if agreed and followed through with the deal, but harm or kill those who refused. Or, alternatively, ask men to go on their knees and torment any who objected.
> 
>  **Can you sing?**  
>  1) A peculiar trait of White Ladies in many depictions is a tenacity to ask a repeated question when they manifest, such as “Have you seen my baby?” “Are you cold?” “Take me home?” or “Did you murder me?”  
> 2) The entire story, never once did Jimmy request Castiel to sing in his original angel voice, yet never once did Castiel ever try to sing to Jimmy with his human voice.  
> 3) Songs sometimes can indeed affect a White Lady. In some lore, singing the rhyme “White lady, white lady, I stole your black baby” at specific places would summon the ghost to the singer’s side.
> 
>  


End file.
